


His Voice

by Sunnyrea



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Reading, Valley Forge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 22:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16049870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyrea/pseuds/Sunnyrea
Summary: Alexander Hamilton reads to John Laurens in bed.





	His Voice

**Author's Note:**

> So I think of this one as a 'deleted scene' from my series [The War](https://archiveofourown.org/series/733914). Bit more gush than they might usually be, so it stands alone here.

Alexander Hamilton returns to General Washington’s headquarters at Valley Forge just as the sun has begun to set. He spent most of the day on horseback, returning from an overnight in York with correspondence from Congress. Hamilton stomps his feet on the stairs as he walks up to the front door to remove some of the snow. The stairs are mostly free of snow, no doubt from the servants sweeping every few hours. Then Hamilton opens the door without a knock, certainly his boots gave enough warning, and pulls off his hat. He hangs it on a peg near the door as he closes it then turns toward the aide-de-camp office. He sees three candles lit but only one man sitting within.

“Meade?”

Richard Kidder Meade, one of Hamilton’s fellow aides-de-camp, sniffs loudly then pulls his head up. “Hamilton?”

“Yes.”

Meade blinks and widens his eyes. He blows out a breath and sits up straighter. “Hello, welcome back.”

Hamilton smiles and steps into the office, putting his traveling bag down on the nearer table against the inner house wall. “It is not so late for such weariness is it?”

“Speak for yourself, Ham, and not others.”

Hamilton raises his eyebrows in mock reproach.

Meade puts his quill down in the inkwell near his hand. “You do not know the hour I rose.”

“And yet you remain awake?”

Meade sighs. “Fitzgerald is a week left us, Tilghman has been tasked to Lafayette for several days.”

“Harrison?” Meade makes a nonplussed noise, which may mean any manner of things. “Laurens?”

“Ah.” Meade smiles. “He returned from Philadelphia but an hour past and straight to bed.”

Hamilton scoffs, half affection and half reproachful. “He could not handle such a short ride when some,” he points to himself with both hands, “rode more than eight hours from York?”

Meade snorts once and cocks his head. “But did you skirmish upon the road?” Meade purses his lips as if this should be a point of pride and he the cat that got the cream. “I think not.”

Hamilton frowns and his head turns toward the stairs. “Laurens was set upon?” He starts to move toward the stairs. “Is he –”

“He is well,” Meade interrupts quickly, his voice turned serious. “He evaded their capture well.”

“‘Their?’“ Hamilton says incredulously, one foot still toward the stairs. “Just how many men did Laurens battle alone?”

Meade chuckles and shrugs one shoulder. “You know our Laurens. He cannot do a thing less when he might use his sword further.”

Hamilton frowns. “Do not toy, Kidder.”

Meade shakes his head. “I said he is well, so he is will. Check if you will.” Meade yawns. “I shall be abed myself soon and there is little for your pen here.”

Hamilton turns and marches toward the stairs. “I should see to Laurens regardless with such flippancy as yours.”

“Aw, Ham...” Hamilton hears Meade cry behind him.

Hamilton takes the stairs two at a time, seeing the door to the General’s office closed with a light beneath but he does not pause for a report. Meade can give him the letters if he chooses. Hamilton marches quickly over the few yards from the top of the stairs – past the General’s bedroom and the larger aide-de-camp bedroom side by side – then stops in front of the closed door to the room he shares with John Laurens alone. Hamilton holds up his hand to knock then drops it again feeling ridiculous. He opens the door slowly, quietly and turns around quickly as he steps inside to close it again.

Hamilton turns in place once more with his back against the door, his mouth open ready to chide Laurens about fighting by himself on the road. However, the room in front of him lies quiet and still, dark without a candle lit and the outline of a man on the bed. Hamilton blinks a few times, trying to adjust his eyes. Then he walks to the desk where he knows a candle and tinder lie. He fumbles around slightly, nearly knocking the candle over, hissing to himself – his hands are still sore from the cold and their room has no fire – until he finally makes a spark and lights the wick.

A dim light illuminates the room. Hamilton sees a few pages on the desk, two lines that look like a letter to Laurens’ father. Hamilton smiles to himself; Laurens trying to accomplish more even after a ride and fight? Hamilton puts the candle up on the dresser to give the small fire more height to light the room. He then turns back to the cot where Laurens lies.

Laurens wears no boots, Hamilton spying them underneath the cot at the foot. Apart from this, Laurens remains fully dressed, even his coat. It is only slightly surprising, what with the freezing cold outside and only some additional warmth added by their building walls. Hamilton presses his lips tight for a moment trying to keep a grin from his face but lets his lips slide up as he kneels down on one knee beside the cot.

Hamilton reaches out and pushes some blond hair back from Laurens’ face, his queue still tied but mused from sleep and possibly his fight. Hamilton sees a new tear on the collar of Laurens’ coat. It has some char to it, possibly a gunshot which just missed its mark. Hamilton swallows once in a fear passed before he knew to fear it. He sees a slight bruise on Laurens’ cheek where Hamilton pushed back the hair. No doubt, Laurens resorted to fists and elbows in whatever skirmish this was. Hamilton sighs once. As much as he cares for this man, he cares for Laurens’ fighting spirit somewhat less from the injury it always brings. He would have Laurens care more for his person but the man is brave and rash to a fault.

“My dear,” Hamilton whispers.

He runs his hand down Laurens’ cheek, toying with hair until he rests his hand on Laurens’ neck. Hamilton pulls up his other hand and carefully unknots Laurens’ cravat. No need for it choking Laurens as he sleeps. He cannot unwind it, however, where Laurens lies and leaves it loose in place instead.

“Ridiculous, rash man,” Hamilton mutters as he stares at the red bruise.

He strokes his finger along Laurens’ jaw, the man shifting slightly in his sleep, his head turning up just slightly toward Hamilton’s hand. Hamilton smiles fondly to himself then leans in close and gently kisses Laurens’ lips. Laurens makes a quiet ‘hmm’ noise and Hamilton kisses Laurens again.

He slides his hand up into Laurens’ hair, kisses him once more, then whispers, “Wake up, John.”

Laurens’ eyes open slowly. He blinks twice then he sees Hamilton and smiles. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

“You are back.”

Hamilton nods. “As you see.”

Laurens shifts slightly on the cot, moving closer to the wall perhaps unconsciously inviting Hamilton to lie with him. 

Hamilton rubs his thumb over Laurens’ cheek and the bruise. “I hear you cannot manage to deliver letters close to Philadelphia without inviting British attack.”

Laurens’ lips press together for a moment then he rolls more onto his back and slides his palm over the crook of Hamilton’s arm. “I did not invite it.”

“Oh no?”

“Do you think I called ‘Hark, come slay me?’“

“Yes.”

Laurens chuckles and Hamilton lays his hand over Laurens’ chest now. Laurens tilts his head. “Yes, you are quite right, I did say that.”

Hamilton sighs once more at the jest in Laurens’ tone. “Ah, so you belittle my concern?”

“When you ask such silly questions, perhaps I do.”

Hamilton raises both eyebrows. “I think I should not leave this house at all if you manage such troubles when I leave.”

“I am glad you are back.” Laurens face turns fond and more serious. “I should prefer this bed with you in it than myself alone.”

“Meade or Tilghman did not attempt to shove in?”

Laurens laughs once. “Ah, see, now you jest too.”

“You leave me no option.”

Laurens nods. “It is the better course.”

“You cannot claim no serious nature to you, I know you well now, and I know you only jest to keep me asking after any further injury I may find and of the whole danger to yourself.”

Laurens’ smile lessens though it is not in anger or sorrow. He sighs and runs his hand over Hamilton’s still over his chest. “I cannot think why I should attempt to fool you.”

“Certainly not.”

“But as you see, I am here, unshot, and nearly unharmed.”

“Nearly,” Hamilton echoes.

“Hamilton.”

Hamilton leans over and kisses Laurens again, his hand clenching over Laurens’ waistcoat as his other moves up to cradle the side of Laurens’ face. Laurens kisses him back, his hands sliding up Hamilton’s arms. Hamilton shifts his foot around so his kneels on both knees and presses harder kisses against Laurens’ lips. Laurens breathes in deeply through his nose, kisses Hamilton back in kind. Hamilton thinks it strange he should miss Laurens’ kisses so much with only a day having gone without but he feels it now in the comfort of their return.

“Ah, John,” he whispers against Laurens’ lips. “I should keep you trapped here in this bed.”

“Hmm,” Laurens replies as he arches up slightly against Hamilton’s chest, his tongue slow against Hamilton’s and his teeth nipping at Hamilton’s lower lip.

Hamilton laughs back in his throat and pushes back with firm kisses until Laurens’ lies down on the cot once more. Hamilton pulls back enough to look down at him, Laurens’s hands still on his arms and both of his own in Laurens’ hair now.

“Why would you give me such worry, Laurens? Hmm? It seems unjust.”

“Do not think on it more now,” Laurens whispers. “You have me.”

Hamilton sighs. “I do.”

Hamilton then glances down over Laurens’ form. He looks back up at Laurens who raises his eyebrows slowly back.

“And yet still so attired,” Hamilton says. “If you were injured today –”

“I was not injured.”

“Hurt.”

Laurens makes a noncommittal noise.

“Harmed then.”

“Harmed?”

“If you were harmed,” Hamilton presses on, “you should sleep.”

Laurens huffs once. “I believe I had been until your waking me.”

Hamilton rubs his thumb along Laurens’ hairline. “Would you prefer I had not?”

“No.”

“There.”

Laurens smirks. “I am overruled.”

“You are cheeky.”

Laurens pulls one hand away from Hamilton’s arm to touch Hamilton’s cheek with his fingertips. “You make me so. I cannot feel true gloom with you above me and your hands upon me like this.”

Hamilton cannot stop an answering cheeky smile. “Only as this.”

Laurens’ lips twitch which Hamilton knows as a sign. “Not only this.”

Hamilton leans up again, Laurens’ hand slipping away. “Then take off your coat.”

Laurens’ eyes widen. Hamilton shakes his head. “Do not think so basely.”

“ _I_ think so?”

Hamilton smiles then grimaces as he shifts his aching knees and pulls himself back up to standing. “Yes, you sir. Our house still with our General and a couple fellow aides and you think of such things.”

Laurens sits up slowly on the bed, a slight wince Hamilton catches despite Laurens’ attempts to hide it. “It was you who asked me to disrobe.”

Hamilton cocks his head. “So you might sleep; what else should I mean?”

“Hmm,” Laurens says significantly.

Laurens grips his lapels and flips his coat off his shoulders where he sits, pulling one arm out and then another. Hamilton takes the coat as Laurens stands. He touches the tear he noticed earlier and looks at Laurens. Laurens clicks his teeth but gives no explanation. Hamilton humphs then walks over to the window puts the coat over the seat of the chair beneath it. He hears the sound of furniture moving behind him and turns to see Laurens placing their second chair from the desk under the handle of the door.

“Now, I thought I said something of your base intentions.”

Laurens turns his head. “Do you think them so base?”

“No.” Hamilton would nearly wish to be just as physical and close as Laurens’ action implies. “Only perhaps unwise.”

Laurens begins to unbutton his waistcoat. “Have no fear, Hamilton, I have no intention to wholly intrude upon your virtue.”

Hamilton laughs once. “Virtue?”

“Simply,” Laurens says, his voice low, as he finishes his last button. “I should wish to hold you close without any fear of interruption.”

Hamilton breathes in, steps near Laurens once more and pulls Laurens into his arms. He tilts his head up and Laurens, his down, so their foreheads rest together. Hamilton cannot speak words for how much Laurens makes his chest ache, his heart seize and his arms tingle, how much his hands would never let go.

“Alex,” Laurens whispers.

“You should sleep.”

“I would rather hold you.”

“You may do both.”

Laurens chuckles, his head shifting so his lips press against Hamilton’s brow. “But I would stay awake rather to watch you, to hear your voice.”

Hamilton pulls back enough to kiss Laurens’ lips – the sound of Laurens’ voice saying he wishes to hear Hamilton’s voice. “I say again, you can do both.”

Laurens’ brow furrows in interest. “Yes, and how?”

“I shall show you.” Hamilton nudges Laurens back enough to carefully pull at the buttons on Laurens’ breeches.

“Hamilton...”

Hamilton pulls his hands up to push Laurens’ waistcoat off his shoulders. Hamilton lets the clothing slip slowly off Laurens’ arms, down his back to the ground then he steps back, gesturing at Laurens’ breeches. Laurens pulls them down and steps out of them, dropping them onto the desk and ignoring the waistcoat. Laurens shivers once, the room cold around them. Hamilton pushes Laurens shoulders down until he sits on the cot. Hamilton rubs his fingers over Laurens’ once in some semblance of creating warmth.

“Your stockings too, do not worry I shall soon lie beside you to warm you better.”

“Oh, I see,” Laurens says with a twist of his lips as he pulls off one stocking.

Hamilton turns around and steps back over to the dresser as he pulls off his own coat. He places his coat on top of Laurens’ then opens the second drawer of the dresser. A change of shirt and small clothes lie inside along with some hair powder, not recently used, a comb and a pair of ribbons. Next to these items, nestled in the safety of the drawer, are two books, a Bible and a thinner volume. It is the last which Hamilton takes from the drawer then closes it once more. Hamilton places the pamphlet on top of the dresser then sits on top of his and Laurens’ coats on the chair.

“Oh, so you think to ruin our uniforms?” Laurens asks from where he sits on the cot, the bed covers twisted around his waist and himself twisted to see Hamilton behind him.

“Yes, that is my plan.”

Laurens chuckles then shivers. “Well, do hurry up with it before I freeze.”

Hamilton pulls at his boots, putting them beside the chair, standing straight and stiff, followed by his stockings tossed on the floor. He will have to have one of the servants take them. Those are ruined enough from his ride for now and he has another pair.

“And what exactly did you pull from your drawer?” Laurens asks.

“You must wait,” Hamilton says as he stands. “Practice your patience.”

Laurens raises an eyebrow. “Such demands.”

“Always.”

Laurens wraps his arms around his legs, hugging them close to his chest and tilts his head, watching Hamilton walk. Hamilton feels Laurens’ eyes the brightest light in their dim room. Hamilton removes buttons slowly, watching his own hands but ostentatiously watching Laurens watch him. It seems something possibly perverse, a voyeur hoping for more to occur or perhaps narcissistic, relishing Laurens’ eager eyes on him. But no, it mostly feels romantic, Laurens looking at him as if Hamilton is the light Hamilton thought of him.

“Hamilton,” Laurens finally says, as Hamilton puts his breeches on the chair under the door folded neatly. “Do get in this bed now.”

Hamilton crosses to the dresser, picks up the volume and the lit candle then steps close to the bed. “Then make room, my tall man.”

Laurens scoots close to the wall and pushes the pillows up. He lifts up the sheet and blanket for Hamilton to slide in. Hamilton sits and slides down, Laurens following him. Hamilton then turns the thin book enough for Laurens to read the cover.

“ _Common Sense_ ,” Laurens reads, then his eyes tick up to Hamilton. “I have read it.”

“I should be surprised if you had not.”

Hamilton puts the candle down on the floor near their bed but far enough from their sheets to avoid any disaster. Hamilton turns, takes the pillow from behind Laurens and stacks it on top of his own so he may put his head down but be raised enough to see the pages of the book as he holds it up. Laurens slips down flat on the cot, his head just on the edge of the pillows and mostly on Hamilton’s shoulder. 

His voice is oddly soft when he says, “Do you mean to read to me?”

“Yes,” Hamilton replies, opening to the introduction.

“You never have before.”

Hamilton makes a disbelieving noise. “I have read many a letter aloud in our office.”

“Yes, but not as this.”

Hamilton smiles. “Then do be quiet and listen.”

Laurens does not reply.

Hamilton holds the book open wide with both hands. “ _Perhaps the sentiments contained in the following pages, are not yet sufficiently fashionable to procure them general favor_ ;” Hamilton reads, “ _a long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right..._ ”

“Skip,” Laurens says, reaching up to touch the pages, attempting to turn the first.

“Would you not hear me read?” Hamilton says, keeping his fingers firm on the page.

“You need not read the introduction, we both know it.”

“Have you memorized it?”

“Skip, Hamilton,” Laurens insists.

“What a terrible student you must have made,” Hamilton chides but still turns the page.

Laurens chuckles. “Perhaps.”

Hamilton clears his throat again and reads the title, “ _Common Sense_.”

“Mmhmm,” Laurens murmurs.

“ _Of the origin and design of government in general. With Concise remarks on the English constitution_.”

He feels Laurens smile as he shifts his face into the crook of Hamilton’s neck, one leg and arm hooking over Hamilton under their coverings. Hamilton feels the warmth expand – be it Laurens’ body heat or something more primal.

Hamilton reads on, his voice steady with the confidence of the familiar in such a text read many times. “ _Some writers have so confounded society with government, as to leave little or no distinction between them._ ”

Laurens chuckles quietly as his hand makes circles on Hamilton’s chest over his linen shirt.

“ _Whereas they are not only different, but have different origins._ ”

“Quite different,” Laurens murmurs.

Hamilton reads, “ _Society is produced by our wants, and government by our wickedness; the former promotes our happiness positively by uniting our affections, the latter negatively by restraining our vices._ ”

“I think he smacks of some British bitterness there,” Laurens says.

“Do you not agree?” Hamilton asks.

“I think the nature of government need not be wicked if crafted well.”

Hamilton chuckles. “Says the man active in a rebellion and recently injured in action against his ruling government.”

“Slightly harmed, not injured.”

“Ah, yes.”

Laurens kisses Hamilton’s neck, the movement slow and hinting at drowsiness. “Read on,” he says against Hamilton’s skin making Hamilton shiver.

Hamilton’s voice slowly slightly as he reads. “ _The one encourages intercourse._ ” Laurens kisses his neck again, his palm spreading flat on Hamilton’s chest. “ _The other creates distinctions._ ”

Laurens’ hand weaves in small circles down Hamilton’s chest until Laurens slips his hand under Hamilton’s shirt to touch the skin of Hamilton’s stomach. Hamilton makes a small noise, Laurens’ hand still somewhat cooler than the insulation of all the cloth over them.

“ _The first is a patron, the last a punisher,_ ” Hamilton reads.

“‘Punisher,’” Laurens echoes near Hamilton’s ear, his voice quiet. “Especially with gun in hand,” Laurens adds.

“Yes.”

Laurens’ fingers make distracting patterns over Hamilton’s skin, not quite circles, something more intricate, all four fingers and his thumb twisting lazily about. Hamilton’s eyes roll up from the page as he focuses on the feeling, wanting to tell the shapes.

“Keep reading,” Laurens whispers.

Hamilton’s eyes tick back to the page, the dark outside and only their one candle making his task harder now and even more so with the movement of Laurens’ hand.

“ _Society in every state is a blessing, but government even in its best state is but a necessary evil._ ”

Laurens’ hand lingers close to the tie of Hamilton’s small clothes now. He traces the line between skin and cloth, a back and forth motion, dragging slower each time so Hamilton feels Laurens’ nails.

“ _...in its worst state an..._ ” Laurens’ fingers tap, his nail turning a more insistent scratch of a line. “ _...an intolerable one..._ ” Hamilton reads, his voice starting to halt and stutter. “ _...for when..._ ” Laurens’ lips press slow kisses under his ear then closer to his pulse. “ _For when..._ ”

“For when?” Laurens asks, the rumble of his voice like something just as physical over his skin.

Hamilton turns his head abruptly, blows out the candle beside their bed and drops the book onto the floor. Then he rolls over onto his side, hard and fast into Laurens’ arms and crashes their lips together. Laurens breathes in sharply, a laugh swallowed by their kissing before he can give true voice to it. Hamilton kisses him hard, his hands under Laurens’ shirt and his knee pressing between Laurens’ legs.

“Alex...”

“It is your fault,” Hamilton says as he shifts to kiss Laurens’ neck.

“Ngh...” Laurens gasps when Hamilton nips at skin he cannot ignore. “Your voice is... ah, the culprit.”

Hamilton ‘hmms’ and kisses his way back up to Laurens’ lips, one hand finding its way to Laurens’ hair, pulling off the nearly defeated ribbon. “I have spoken before.”

“Yes,” Laurens groans quietly as Hamilton hikes his knee higher, “And always...”

“Yes?” Hamilton says, his kisses softer, Laurens hands pulling at the ties of his small clothes.

“The way you speak,” is all Laurens offers before kissing Hamilton again, shifting his hand low to make their passions deeper.

The two of them use deft hands between them, slow strokes and gasping and their foreheads pressed close together as they touch each other. What is only swift fumblings to satisfy lustful need is also something deep and pained in Hamilton’s heart. Laurens’ other hand grasps his so tightly and Laurens’ lips kiss Hamilton’s like he fears Hamilton may run away even now if Laurens should push too hard. Hamilton squeezes back with both hands so Laurens groans and Hamilton wants to say, ‘I am not running, I am right here.’

When they lie sated and quiet, a ruined handkerchief thrown down near Laurens’ boots, Laurens nuzzles his nose against Hamilton’s cheek. He breathes slow as if half asleep, which is likely. Hamilton feels himself heavy now as well, as such sex will do.

“Barely a paragraph read,” Laurens says in the dark, only moonlight through the window.

“And whom might you blame?”

“I did very little.”

“Oh, do not demean yourself.”

Laurens chuckles quiet and kisses Hamilton’s cheek.

“You should read to me again,” Laurens says, turning Hamilton’s head just enough to kiss his lips.

Hamilton slips his ankles between Laurens’, kisses him back as he twists his fingers in Laurens hair lying over Laurens’ neck. Hamilton pushes some back over Laurens’ shoulder again.

“I will,” he says quietly, chastely kisses Laurens’ lips, brief and light.

Laurens sighs quietly, his eyes circling slowly around Hamilton’s face until Hamilton kisses him again. “The sound of your voice is...”

Hamilton smirks. “Yes?”

“Delightful.” Laurens smiles, his fingers reaching up to pull at a few errant curls from Hamilton queue – still somehow in place if loose now. “Your voice is something one feels, like a hand on my chest, like your kisses, when you speak on subjects of your passions.”

“ _Common Sense_ is my passion?”

“Politics,” Laurens answers with a purse of his lips, “government so entangled with our fight.”

“Ah, I see.” Hamilton runs his hand up Laurens’ chest over his shirt. “And what if I spoke on you?”

Laurens sighs. “Oh, you would be sure to kill me then.”

“I could not do that. I must say nothing further on the subject of you then.”

Laurens smiles as he wraps an arm around Hamilton’s waist and pulls him closer on the bed, their chests near touching. “My dear...”

“I could talk of how lovely your eyes seem in this light, moonlight making them dark even when I know them blue.” Laurens breathes in slowly, only staring at him, his hand resting against Hamilton’s jaw. “I could speak on the feel of your lips, the touch of your hand, how your skin under my hand feels as velvet.”

Laurens laughs quietly but still watches him.

“Or something finer perhaps? A Chinese silk.”

“Alexander...”

“No no,” Hamilton says, “you are right, you are far finer than any cloth. I would choose to touch you over anything else.”

Laurens sighs again. “Darling, you...”

“And darling you,” Hamilton runs his hand up over Laurens’ on his face. “Would you not wish to hear me speak of what I would prefer most to talk of?”

“I think I should like to hear you speak on anything if you are in my arms while doing so.”

Hamilton lips twist and he nods once against the pillows. “How discerning you are of what is of most import.”

“I am.”

Hamilton kisses Laurens’ lips, lazy and tired and hardly cold at all now.

“I will read to you more,” he says quietly.

“Yes.”

“And tell you of what I prefer of you.”

“Yes.”

“But you should sleep.”

Laurens makes a ‘hmm’ noise and Hamilton sees his eyes closed. He tips his head down, his fingers moving slower against Hamilton’s neck now. Hamilton turns his head enough to kiss Laurens’ cheek where he knows the bruise lies. He wonders if he will find more come morning on Laurens’ chest or legs. He hopes not.

“Sleep then too, dear,” Laurens says.

Hamilton’s eyes slip closed, the feeling of Laurens wrapped around him lulling him to warm safety.

“’Dear...’” he murmurs. “’Darling,’ you call me such words.

“Mine,” Laurens whispers. “I call you... mine.”

Hamilton smiles, hears the word ‘mine,’ as beautiful a speech as any words Hamilton just read to Laurens, as glorious as the praises and adoration he spoke. He holds onto the word ‘mine,’ with Laurens’ voice and drifts off to sleep, Laurens tight in his arms and Hamilton’s lips on Laurens’ cheek.


End file.
